


I'll come back for you

by Whogirl42



Series: Theresa Lives AUs [1]
Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It, One Shot, Theresa lives cause I say so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28110135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whogirl42/pseuds/Whogirl42
Summary: Her throat clogged up, tears burning in her eyes. Even as she had denied her own feelings, she’d grown used to the tender affection he never fully managed to hide. Those soft smiles. Now, as he moved towards her, his expression was as blank as a host’s- hewasa host, just doing as he was programmed to. No hesitation. No remorse. She stumbled back, her heart filled with terror. “No. No.Please.” He was upon her now. Theresa thrashed against his hold, openly sobbing, but he didn’t falter. She screamed, begged. Surelysomethingwould get through to him, surely he wouldn’t, wouldn’t-Bernard crashed her head against the wall over and over again. Seconds before the end, she thought he whispered,I’ll come back for you,and then there was nothing.
Relationships: Theresa Cullen/Bernard Lowe
Series: Theresa Lives AUs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059365
Kudos: 5





	I'll come back for you

**Author's Note:**

> I first started writing this right after I finished episode 7. A couple days later I finished the first season, and some of my thoughts and theories proved incorrect. I thought about adjusting this to fit the canon, then decided, _fuck it,_ so here we go.

Theresa was put on edge from their first introduction. Ford never bothered to hide the cruel sharpness of his gaze when around her. He'd wanted her afraid of him. In this little kingdom they called a park he was a god, and she a mere mortal. He enjoyed watching his subjects from a distance, content, for the most part, to let Theresa run the day-to-day. But she was not a prophet nor a disciple, and, keenly aware of that, she preferred to let Bernard run interference where he could. 

Would he run interference now? Now, that she'd conspired to undermine and topple Ford. Now, with no witnesses to bare judgement or answer her calls for help. Now, that Ford had ordered Bernard to dispose of her. 

The Bernard she knew wouldn't hurt a fly. He'd certainly never hurt _her_. Why else would she agree to go with him alone, at night, without backup, to an unknown place in the park? She knew him. She trusted him. 

She, she- 

Oh _why_ did her heart decide on _this moment_ of all moments to-

Her throat clogged up, tears burning in her eyes. Even as she had denied her own feelings, she’d grown used to the tender affection he never fully managed to hide. Those soft smiles. Now, as he moved towards her, his expression was as blank as a host’s- he _was_ a host, just doing as he was programmed to. No hesitation. No remorse. She stumbled back, her heart filled with terror. “No. No. _Please_.” He was upon her now. Theresa thrashed against his hold, openly sobbing, but he didn’t falter. She screamed, begged. Surely _something_ would get through to him, surely he wouldn’t, wouldn’t-

Bernard crashed her head against the wall over and over again. Seconds before the end, she thought he whispered, _I’ll come back for you,_ and then there was nothing.

* * *

She was awoken by the splitting ache in the back of her skill. Touching it brought a new burst of pain and left her hand wet and sticky. She forced her eyes open. Nausea swelled through her at the action and in the dim light she could make out a dark red colour. _Blood_ , a voice whispered. Then, louder, _her blood._ Which meant-

No. Impossible. And yet-

_Alive_.

The realisation had her shuddering, sharp breaths going in and out and oxygen barely making it to her lungs. 

_Alive. Alive. Alive._

The memories returned. Ford. _Bernard._ A cry broke past her lips. _Unacceptable._ Even now, habit sent her hands against her mouth, stifling any further noise or whimper. She pushed against the sobs until her gums ached and her teeth cut into her skin and she _still couldn’t stop._ She couldn’t stop shaking or crying and what was the _point_ in her well-trained forces of habit when there was _no one_ coming for her?

No one to watch as her hands collapsed against the wet floor, her body swiftly following suit. No one to care as she screamed and screamed and screamed until her throat gave out and she couldn’t scream anymore. Water. She needed water. There was no one to fetch her the cold glass she desperately needed to drink. No one to help pick her back up again. But then, when had she _ever_ needed someone to do that for her? She was Theresa fucking Cullen.

“I can do this,” she said firmly, and she could almost trick herself into believing it.

Hoisting herself up to her feet, dizziness muddled her mind. She held a steadying hand to the wall, faintly registering the cold shackle around her wrist _. Deep breaths_. Forget water, she needed a damn cigarette. Screaming had helped but there was only one true tried and tested way of calming her nerves enough for her to function. How many boxes had she gone through the past few weeks? Two a day? Three? How many times had she thought, _this is going to be the death of me?_

Except it wasn’t.

_Alive_. Her thoughts kept circling back to that point. Ford had wanted her dead and yet, unless this was some twisted version of hell, she wasn't. _I'll come back for you._ Was this Bernard's doing? But he was a host.

Theresa slumped ungracefully against the wall, finally allowing herself a moment to process that wonderful new revelation. She’d had no time to do so before. Now, however… Bernard was a host. Had always been a host. Theresa was no better than the guests, falling for a- _no._ She shut down that line of thought. Bernard was a host. Hosts did as they were programmed to do, no independent thought or choice of their own. Machines. If he spared her… 

Anger spread through her veins. She latched onto it, let it ignite her. Pushing off the wall, she lifted her chin, her hands set against her hips. _There, that's the posture you're looking for._ Shrugging off memories, she spoke to the cameras no doubt watching her. “Whatever sick game you're playing Ford, I won't have it. Come face me you fucking deluded little _coward_.”

Silence. Theresa waited, her hands not moving an inch even as her fingers itched to light a cigarette. It was moot, anyhow. Her lighter was done. Bernard had lit her cigarette for her on their way to Ford's secret lair. He always had one on his person, even though she'd never once seen him light one for himself. Come to think of it, he'd only begun the habit after they started sleeping together. Her heart ached. Her head throbbed. They begged her to sit down, lay down, rest. She told them to quit their whining and continued to stand.

For the first time since she woke up, she took a good look at her surroundings. She'd gander she was somewhere in cold storage given the wet floor and frankly awful smell. She'd been stuffed here like a retired host. Ford always did have a sick sense of humour, the bastard. Only one of her wrists was shackled, but the thick metal chain connected to it assured her she wouldn't get more than a few paces away from the wall. She wouldn’t even reach the door. 

Movement sounded from outside of the room. She fought the urge to back away. With the room as tiny as it was, even two steps back would have her shoulder blades rubbing against the wall, an uncomfortable reminder that she was trapped. Theresa preferred to maintain the illusion she still had somewhere to run.

The handle turned. In hindsight, she should have expected this. Fucking Ford and his mind games.

“Hello, Theresa.”

This would be simpler if his voice were different. If she had a clear sign that the person she thought she knew never truly existed. But Bernard stood opposite her with those beautiful brown eyes now steeped in sorrow, his voice the same as the many mornings she'd woken up in his arms.

She fought the urge to cross her arms. _It's an ancient instinct. The belly is the most vulnerable part of every animal._ “What does he want, then?”

Bernard's expression turned pained. “I promise you, I didn't know.”

“What. Does he want?”

“Nothing. In fact, he doesn't even know you're alive.”

Unbelievable. She knew Ford considered everyone who wasn’t him to be idiots, but this complete disregard of her intelligence was staggering. “You try to kill me, you kidnap and imprison me, and now you lie to me.”

He moved forward. “Tess-”

“Don't.” _Tess_ was a privilege she granted to a man she cared for. _Tess_ was how she’d sign her notes to him on days she felt particularly sentimental. _Tess_ was an endearment she’d allowed him in their most intimate of moments. This _thing_ didn't get to call her Tess. “I may not be from Behaviour but I know enough about how hosts work. Anything you do is of the will of another. And we both know who holds your leash.”

“No,” he said. “That's where you're wrong.”

She couldn't deal with this. Before she could turn on her heel, he reached into his pocket and took something out. Extended it to her as a peace offering. Theresa looked at the lighter in his hand for a long moment, then back at him. _Damn you._ Not taking her eyes off him, she dug into her pockets and brought out a cigarette. She let him light it for her, as she'd done thousands of times before, and took a long drag.

“I had orders to kill you,” he continued. “I was... I was _going_ to kill you even as everything in me cried out for me to stop. You know I'd never-” He reached for his glasses, cleaned the lenses with the grey cloth he always had on hand. “I'd never hurt you, Theresa. Not if I had any say on the matter.”

“But you don't.”

He smiled. “Except I do. Remember what I told you about Arnold? He wrote half the code of the hosts. Something not even Ford could truly understand. Within that code, he added a trapdoor he alone could access. I had orders to kill you from Ford. And a voice, Arnold's voice, telling me not to. They clashed. My mind... my _circuit_... didn't know which order to follow. My own desires, desires to see you safe, was the tiebreaker.” This time, Theresa let him come closer, the mixed smell of her cigarette and his cologne clouding her senses. “But I couldn't give away that I was no longer under his control. I had to-” His hand trailed her right cheek. So easy to forget everything and fall into him. Recent memories flashed like warning lights, setting her straight, reminding her he was caressing the same side of her head he'd previously bashed into a wall. “I had to make it look convincing.”

“Well, you sure convinced me.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, she turned and moved away. Far too easy to forget the truth. “It's a lovely story, really. One of your better narratives.” She clapped her hands. Once. Twice.

“It's not a story. I... I understand why you don't believe me. _I_ wouldn't believe me.” He adjusted his glasses. “You should be safe here for now. I don't think Ford suspects anything yet. I'll be down again with food and medical supplies when I can.”

With that, Theresa was once again left alone.

* * *

“Your story. Arnold. He's been dead over 30 years.”

As promised, Bernard returned soon after with food, water and plenty of medical supplies.

Had he raided all of Medical's stores? Did he even know what he was doing with half of it?

She’d given in and sat back down on the wet floor while she waited, splashing cold water on herself whenever her eyelids grew heavy. She was no doctor, but she suspected if her eyes closed again, they weren’t likely to reopen. Bernard was pleased to see her still conscious and hurried to apply care to her head wound. He'd muttered worriedly about a concussion, to which Theresa commented that she wasn't aware Ford programmed a medical degree into him. Other than that brief exchange, they'd sat in silence. She only dared break it once he had finished, and she was confident she'd be able to put a good deal of distance between them if needed. 

She also wanted a clear view of him. Bernard knew her disturbingly well, but she also knew _him;_ his expressions, his mannerisms, his tells. While he'd been gone Theresa had time to mull over what he said. Though it was clearly all complete bullshit, he appeared to believe it. Hosts always _did_ believe the narratives given to them. But Theresa had the pleasure of witnessing the rare times where Lee messed up and his oh-so-clever narratives fell apart. If Theresa pushed enough, she might be able to catch the tiny inconsistencies. And a clue to what the fuck Ford wanted.

Bernard removed his glasses, pensively cleaning them like she'd seen him do a million times before. Returning them, he continued his lines. “That's what Arnold wanted everyone to think. I don't know how, exactly, but he set something up with Dolores to fool Ford and the investors and has been working behind the scenes ever since. Until now, he and Ford have been at a stalemate but with the new narrative...” He shook his head. “Ford's planning something. It has to do with Dolores again, I think…” His gaze drifted. 

Theresa clicked her fingers in his face. “So what you're saying is that we're stuck in the middle of a war between two would-be gods.”

He blinked. “Essentially.”

“How fucking perfect.” She pivoted to the side, hand running through her hair and barely avoiding what remained of her head wound as she regained her bearings. “Okay.” She faced him, hands set on her hips. “This is what's going to happen. You're going to let me go and I'm taking a boat to the mainland and going straight to the board with this.”

He was shaking his head before she finished talking. “They're already on their way here. And the shareholders. There's a gala, they think Ford is stepping down... I think people will get hurt.”

“All the more reason for you to unchain me.”

“Arnold has a plan. He wants us free but doesn't want more of us to lose our humanity in the process.”

“ _More_ of you?”

Bernard's eyes closed. He tilted his head to the side as if listening to something. Or some _one_. The simple reminder of what he truly was chilled her. Whether it was Ford, fucking Arnold back from the dead, or anyone else... _someone_ was pulling his strings, and for whatever reason, they had a keen interest in keeping her alive.

“He did something to Dolores,” Bernard said slowly, eyes still shut. “She didn't have what it took for Arnold's plan, so he merged her with another character. Wyatt.”

Theresa's blood ran cold. “Wyatt, as in the big villain of Ford's new narrative?” 

“That's the one. But hosts can be restored. Humans can't.”

_Humans might_ , Theresa thought, her mind drifting to Delos's secret project. But she understood. “You think Ford is going to use Dolores to kill investors, and Arnold is trying to stop him. All this because the board wants him to step down?”

“I think this would have happened whether or not the board stepped in. I don't know if Arnold is trying to stop him completely- they _do_ ultimately want the same thing- but if we listen to his plan we might be able to reduce fatalities, to both humans and hosts.”

“And what does Arnold's plan need of me?” Supposing she chose to believe any of this.

“He needs you for the aftermath. I'm sorry, but that means for now you stay here where you'll be safe.”

“I don't think so.”

“People could _die_.” He was right in front of her now. “I almost lost you already, I can't put you in a situation like that again.”

Theresa sucked in a breath. Once again, his cologne suffused her senses and, taken back an easier time, she found herself leaning in. There was a point she was trying to make, she was sure of it, but she was so _tired_ and he was so close and-

_You are Theresa fucking Cullen, not a schoolgirl with a crush._

She scrambled to remember his last sentence. He couldn’t put her in a dangerous situation again. Except, no, that wasn’t right. “ _You_ wouldn’t be.” _He can’t make decisions_ , she reminded herself. _He isn’t capable of it._ “I want to talk to Arnold. You expect me to believe any of this, I need a conversation.”

“I don't know if I can arrange that-”

“If you expect me to believe you're not just a mindless host like all the others, you'll fucking figure out a way.”

He held her gaze for a long moment. She raised her chin, daring him to argue. Daring him to kiss her. His breath blew over her lips and she _wanted_ -

He stepped away. “I'll see what I can do.”

“Good,” she said. Good, that he had the sense to put a stop to whatever foolish notion had sprung up in her head. It was the concussion she likely had. Nothing more.

He made his way to the door, then stopped. Turned. “I'll be back,” he said. “I promise. I'll come back for you.”

“You better.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello fellow Beresa shippers!  
> I hoped you enjoyed this fic, and can't wait to hear what you thought of it. As you'll have noticed, this is but the first fic in a series of Theresa Lives AUs. Each fic will stand alone, be of various lengths and have cameos from different characters. Next up stars Elsie, who I love and adore, and who was so so fun to write. Stay tuned! :D  
> You can also find me at whogirl42.tumblr.com  
> Feel free to come into my inbox and scream at me about Beresa. Flailing and swearing are more than welcome! XD


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